


Treasured Kind

by Onus_Probandi



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game), Granblue Fantasy (Video Game), 神撃のバハムート | Shingeki no Bahamut | Rage of Bahamut (Anime)
Genre: Dragon fucking adventures, I blame sheep, I tagged both Lucis but it’s only one but he’s a mix of both, IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR SO LONG BEGONE THOT, Its a crossover but not, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onus_Probandi/pseuds/Onus_Probandi
Summary: In a moment of utmost shame, Harle finds himself under the care of a shutin Silverwyrm, which naturally ends in them furiously copulating.





	Treasured Kind

The day he meets the Wyrm is both the best and worst day of his entire, pretty overall shitty life. It’s saying something when one considers he’s been under the thumb of that bitch boy Emile for a few years now, yet another idiotic royal who only has power because their mother decided not to swallow. He’s just been slapped around by the wonder twin brigade yet again, flawless scheme falling apart when those fucking idiots he entrusted the process to entirely fucked him over with the flailing around.

He wakes up in a clearing deep within unfamiliar whitewoods, his skin rough with goosebumps as he shivers against the sudden gust of cold.

Spec- _ fucking _ -tacular. He’s probably on another continent or at least flung across the mountains. His horse appears to have abandoned him, meaning a long, arduous hike back to the imperial stronghold. Or he could die right here. Not the first time he’s thought of it. Harle has had a pretty shitty life, but well people already fucking knew it. You don’t become a manifestation of everything shitty in life without a few unjustified mutilations under your belt. Having his stomach carved open from pectoral to pectoral wasn’t the highlight of his life and getting pieced back together was even fucking worse.

But he survived it.

Only to die, a forgotten failure in the snow. A massive downgrade if you asked him.

Had he spent too long playing footsie with the Royals, a starving wolf placating itself into a house pup for table scraps? Had his master plan been too complacent, too based on his own endless patience? Had he not been greedy enough, had he not wanted it enough, had he enjoyed the perks of being a lapdog too much, sinking into the plush lifestyle he was afforded?

Harle has never been much of a quitter, one of his less than desirable traits as--much like everything he does--he takes it to the absolute extreme. Death is no deterrent, rather the ultimate motivator. He works at his best, maximum potential when he’s absolutely about to die.

He stumbles as he throws his body forward on his feet, his body rejecting the sudden, jerking movements. He can feel healing wounds tear open (oh, they  _ healed  _ him before they threw him out to die, how heroic of them) and taste the blood as it rises in his throat. Harle briefly remembers taking a blast of magic directly to the abdomen, the destructive brunt only stopped by...something. He’s thankful, as it explains why his insides aren’t spilling out of him and he’s currently not very, very dead.

Doesn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch, that’s for sure.

The sky is a deep shade of violet and magenta when he finally spies some form of shelter. If he turns his head and lets his breathing calm, he can hear the wolves howling from the North (or what he assumes is the North) and he doesn’t want to be exposed when they finally make up the distance between the valley and the highlands. The cold is beginning to seep into his bones and his teeth have cut his tongue with the incessant chattering.

Just as he thinks he’ll have to sleep in the snow, he spots the cavern. Dug into the side of the mountain and mostly hidden by the dense pines, the clearing is easy to miss on horseback from even a few feet away. Now, Harle isn’t an idiot. He knows very personally about the dangers of caves. But he also knows about the dangers of wolves, especially after dark while half dead. It's not a lot, but he’s been dripping blood since he started in this trudge and he’s sure he’ll find himself in the jaws of a canine before the night is over if he doesn’t hide himself away. 

So he put himself at the mercy of the lesser of many, many evils here.

The cave is high and dry on the inside, a dark maw of a beast that smells faintly of smoke and leaves. If someone has been living here, that could be a problem, but at this point, Harle has lost the ability to fucking care. 

Surprisingly he had one at one point, but those days were well and gone by now.

His eyes don’t adjust to the deep darkness at the back of the cave, but he can spot dying light in a speck far above him. The top of the mountain, he assumes, allowing himself to collapse against the nearest wall with a heavy sigh escaping from his lips. He feels the last sparks of remnant healing magic fade away as he closes his eyes, not for death but to shut out the swarm of worst possible scenarios buzzing about his head. Normally, he would have plans or books or people about to distract him from his own constant cynicism, but without strategic distraction, he is left alone with his thoughts and what shitty thoughts they are. He realizes that the probability of surviving the night is next to nil, but if he does beat the odds, his chances of survival grow greater by the hour.

He’s relied on luck too much, Harle realizes. But strategy itself is just luck. A roll of a dice, a 1 out of ten billion chance everything will go to plan. The law of large numbers has to kick in eventually. 

Something warm that smells of freshwater salmon hits him in the face, causing his countenance to contort in disgust as he opens his eyes to find the source.

It stares back at him, sky blue eyes curious at the intruder in its lair but not too perturbed by his sudden appearance. Its scales capture the light with a shower of silver as it sways its tail idly, but not without hesitation. He can see it in the beast’s eyes.

Oh, Gods strike him the fuck down. Of course, he would find the one mountain with the one cave that houses the one thing he honestly has seen enough of to last him a goddamn lifetime. A motherfucking dragon. 

His blood pounds in his ears as a massive jolt of fear and adrenaline confuse themselves and leave him in a state between fight, flight or piss himself. Instead, he freezes where he is, his breath catching in his throat as the beast studies him. An eternity passes but it grows bored of the still expression he can see reflected in its eyes and huffs once more, turning and sauntering off back into the depths of the cave.

What the fuck.

Harle contemplates running, he seriously does. He didn’t get a good look at how massive the beast is, so he has no idea how many seconds would lie between his dash to the entrance and the jaws of death. But he does nothing, glued to his sitting position, carved from stone as his brain practically implodes from the sheer overexertion in his critical thinking regions.

When he wakes yet again, fingers cascade through his hair, leaving warm sparks of magic where they graze his skin. It’s oddly comforting, and with his eyes closed he can almost  _ almost  _ lose himself in it and vaguely remember one woman who loved him until her untimely death. 

But he said almost. Nostalgia is for the dead and the foolish. He hopes he is neither. 

Harle grips the wrist attached to the offending hand painfully, tearing it out of his hair and yanking a few strands out of his own head as well. Opening his eyes, he bores his eyes deep into the–what the fuck. 

If the dragon really fucking thought that Harle was a goddamn idiot, then why bother with the pretense? Why bother shapeshifting if they didn’t even change any of their colorings? Is Harle just supposed to forget the giant fucking dragon that was in his face not a few hours ago? Silver hair...eyes the color of the sky? Horns curving to frame the shape of his head? Really, now? A tail. Who could it be?

Harle snatches his hand back from the man standing directly in front of him, ignoring the delicately shocked look on his soft, slightly angular face. His armor is blinding even in the dark of the cave, making looking at him head-on nigh impossible. The man, no he’s not human, the dragon is...surprisingly attractive, which is probably far more concerning because Harle knows this is a dragon.

Doesn’t stop him from being pretty.

“What do you want now?” Harle snaps, mostly to throw himself out of questioning his sexuality...you know, towards actual humans. 

The dragon levels his gaze at him, red clashing into blue, twilight against midday. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, studying him, magic at the tips of his fingers.

When he finally speaks, it’s one question, simple and innocent but deviously innocuous to anyone who knew anything about magical creatures.

“What is your name?” The dragon asks, watching Harle with an unreadable expression.

Harle immediately seals his lips, already on high alert from the pain, this proximity the dragon insisted on maintaining and hands in his hair that he didn’t exactly hate but wasn’t loving either. Having studied them since he was a child, the first thing Harle has learned from his mother was to never, ever,  _ ever _ give a magical creature your name. Names possessed power in that world, and those who managed to pry them out of a mortal’s lips would find themselves in an extremely advantageous position with potential control over a fleshy puppet topping the list.

When he doesn’t reply, the dragon frowns, magic fizzling out as he curls his hand and drops it back down to his side. His eyes briefly search Harle’s face for something before he opens his mouth to speak again, “I cannot help you if I do not know your name.”

“Then I shall die,” Harle says it flippantly, his life to be discarded, the inedible center of a fruit tossed onto the ground and left to feed the soil, but there’s a tinge of fear in his voice, a creak of exhaustion as he so easily throws away his existence. 

The dragon smiles at that a bit, more sneer than mirth, “Are you so sure?”

Harle gives a snarl of his own but with none of the irritating premises that this fuckwit seems to possess. Maybe it’s the pain making him delusional but this dragon is slowly growing more and more fuckable as time passes. He’s beautiful, extremely so. His eyes only grow more interesting and heavenbound as the specks of silver in them become clouds stretching out into an endless horizon captured in two holes drilled into a, presumably empty, head. 

...Illa save him. He’s absolutely losing his fucking mind.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head, instead choosing to alight his eyes on a bland wall.

If he gives the dragon, who is apparently very fuckable, what he wants, Harle will probably find himself on the wrong end of a sharp object jabbed deep into his chest. If he doesn’t, well...he’ll still find himself dead but a lot more aware of it. 

The dragon studies him, watching, waiting. It’s in no hurry, eyes locked on Harle with the ferocity of a chained beast but the patience of a cat curled in a warm patch of sun. His lips twitch in a bemused smirk, his variety of expressions making him oh so punchable.

It peels out of Harle’s mouth, latex paint peeling away from his flesh as he spreads his lips. At this point, it does him more harm than good to keep his name to himself. At least the fucker can identify his body if someone comes looking for him.

“Harle. Harle Estevanza.” The dragon pries it out of his mouth, but once he has it, he grins proudly, savoring the power the morsel gives him, tail twitching as it swings back and forth. 

“Harle…” the dragon hums, savoring the vibrations. “I am known as the Silverwyrm of the Whitewoods. You may call me Lucifer.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

Lucifer is a gracious host, providing Harle with a warm place to sleep in the form of a nest of blankets and lush pillows and enough healing magic to incapacitate a bull. Harle had seen his fair share of combat and rivals swinging for his head but never once imagined that even a dragon would have trouble dealing with his high tolerance for the average healing spells. Most of his time in the cave have been spent in an absolute daze, vaguely aware of his surroundings only to eat a few morsels and choke down a sip of water. He’s been more aware of vomiting his liquified insides out- but those moments are overshadowed by the warm weight of Lucifer’s hands in his hair. 

Harle is many things but a liar to himself isn’t one of them. He would be remiss if he said that he didn’t enjoy the odd comfort the dragon dished out while Harle’s intestines turned to soup.

Which is why, likely only hours later, when the pain finally stops but he’s probably suffering from delusions, Harle lets the dragon kiss him, both parties citing mutual interest in the inner workings of the other’s species. 

Such an admission is why Harle currently finds his half-clothed body under the scrutiny of that self-same dragon. Cocky bastard he is, he breathes sharply onto Harle’s skin, grinning in delight as he shivers and undulates under the candlelight. It’s been a long, long time since Harle has had someone touch him in this way, stroke his skin and whisper reassuring words in his ears. And, if he counts the eagerness of the dragon, he would wager that it has been longer for him.

Lucifer kisses the skin littered by scars with a light but deft peck, inhaling the deep, rich scent from the quickly fading remnants of the younger man’s cologne. It smells of the woods at dusk with the faint tones of cherrywood smoke- a far cry from the ash and the blood he reeked of earlier. His tongue laves at the longest scar trailing down Harle’s chest, watching the human twitch in anticipation as his breath catches in his throat. Harle has more pride than this, he’s far better at playing hard to get when he’s not at the door of death, but now all he wants is comfort. His skin still holds the wet flare of injury underneath it, pains spreading out from the nexus of his chest to his appendages, but Lucifer’s touch ignites a dry heat on his skin and a warm blossom of need as Harle begins to slowly but surely feel arousal trickle down his cock.

Urgh, is it too much to say that he’s ashamed? It feels appropriate but at the same time, very much not. All he wants is to be fucked into the ground but at the same time...ugh fuck his body. He just wants to be warm and mindless for once in this fucking nightmare of a week.

Harle grasps one of Lucifer’s horns and shoves his head down closer to the source of Harle’s suffering, tugging his waistband down to his knees and exposing his underwear and thighs to the dragon’s hungry gaze. 

Lucifer’s fingers stroke at the smooth skin in the junction between Harle’s leg and pelvis, lips kissing a line up soft thigh skin and relishing in the sensation of Harle shuddering in excitement. He grinds his lower half against the warm, open mouthed kisses Lucifer laid on him, inhaling sharply when teeth graze sensitive skin. Another hand kneads the flesh of his other thigh, right near the area that desired more attention. Something cold and not quite human reaches underneath his underwear, searching and stroking until it grasps Harle’s cock tightly and gives it a few shallow, blind strokes.

Harle opens his eyes and gazes down, wishing a little that he didn’t due to the wave of heat that shoots directly into his brain at the sight of Lucifer’s tail, his motherfucking dragon tail, pressed against his leg as it vanishes into his underwear presumably to stroke and tease Harle’s cock, which now, to Harle’s infinite dismay, stiffens painfully. The tail coils around his dick and pulsates with the dragon’s heartbeat, the scales smooth and permitting, almost teasing Harle to push into the depths and lose him in the strange stimulation.

Lucifer purrs proudly at Harle’s dumbstruck face as he raises himself up, stripping off Harle’s tight pants from around his ankles and tearing off his underwear in a moment of sheer confusion. Idiot.

He sits back on his haunches and...watches Harle squirm. His tail keeps a firm grip on his penis as it makes a spiraling motion in its revolutions in pumping him. His eyes betray his face with the uncontrollable mirth spilling out of them when a particularly unexpected pull drags a sharp moan from Harle’s oh so pretty lips. The son of humans is an interesting subject, and Lucifer can feel the magic pouring off him in waves, perhaps explaining his resistance to his healing. But that’s not what makes him interesting. He’s...uncommonly beautiful. Eyes the color of sunset snow flutter in and out of awareness, his skin flushed and warm with life in a way Lucifer has never observed before. Deep brown hair sways every which way, revealing silver hoops embedded in his earlobes. A shame, too- Lucifer had heard that human earlobes were soft and he wanted to experience the great novelty of nibbling at one.  

Harle bats his hands at Lucifer’s face, groaning to vocalize his displeasure at the loss of sensation. The tail ceases in its plusations, sliding off of Harle’s cock and coming to rest against Lucifer’s back as he thinks for a moment, licks his lips and chuckles softly in his throat.

“I didn’t realize you were so...hah, needy.” Lucifer’s tone is light and harmless but Harle can’t help but hate the insinuation in his voice. “My apologies.”

Harle bares his teeth. “I am not ‘needy’.”

Lucifer gives him a grin, devious and plotting. His tail waves back and forth in excitement, dashing forward to grip Harle’s leg and pulls him closer to where he rests. Harle protests weakly but otherwise doesn’t complain, raising his leg a bit to give Lucifer a better angle at his ass. 

“You like it~” Lucifer makes seductive reference to his tail, the muscle constricting as is slides down Harle’s leg until it coils around his thigh and squeezes. The leg dangles there for a moment as Harle sputters through his excuses, that anyone would enjoy something smooth wrapped around their cock. It’s natural to give into stimulation. For a moment, he had thought it to be one of Lucifer’s hands.

Lucifer pulls the young man closer to his lap until their hips meet, warm and unprotected skin against cold metal. Harle shudders involuntarily at the sudden cold burning at his ass, attempting to drag his leg away from Lucifer’s grip with no success.

“Just wait.” Lucifer sings, placing a hand on his chest to still his squirming. Harle watches in a sort of awe as he dissolves his armor into mist, leaving behind a firm and toned body because of course he would form his human body to be as attractive as possible- aside from the matted scars that looked draconic in nature littered across his chest, neck and possibly back. The angle Harle has gives him a good look directly at the destruction littered across his abdomen and grimances at the gruesome reminders.

Lucifer catches his eyes and smiles gently. “Mortals aren’t the only ones who war amongst themselves. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it one day.”

Harle smirks, his chapped lips protesting the move. “Am I a child now? You will regale me with your tales of war and woe?”

The dragon says nothing to that other than giving a short bark that almost becomes a laugh, his tail releasing Harle’s leg but resting against the supple flesh. Jokes aside, Harle can feel Lucifer’s cock against his ass, thankfully feeling at least somewhat human sized and portional to his body. That’s still large, mind you, but at least he’ll be able to walk sometime within the century. 

It’s grown hard during the period between Harle moving against it and his realization that Lucifer is going to oblige his wishes to be fucked ruthlessly. 

On a side note, if he wanted to be fucked so badly then he could have just asked his soldiers to go through with the plan.

Lucifer licks his fingers, coating them with a heavy layer of saliva before rubbing them against Harle’s asshole. Oh, so it's going to be like that? Harle doesn’t really know why he was expecting the dragon to have oil but spit? It’s not going to work as well as Lucifer thinks, but hell- can’t hurt worse than the magic to the chest bullshit.

His body feels warm and then he can physically feel the cords of muscle in his ass as they slowly lose feeling, relaxing against Harle’s will under Lucifer’s touch. “The fuck are you doing?!–“

“Just a mild local muscle relaxant. It’s harmless and will make the process easier. Unless you wish to crawl in pain?” Lucifer adds at the look on Harle’s face, which morphs into an apologetic sneer. He’s mildly disappointed, the pain being part of the appeal to fucking a dragon or even someone as thick and long as Lucifer feels. The dragon chuckles at him as he wipes his hand on a blanket, angling Harle’s hips and ass against a stack of pillows.

Lucifer hovers above him, head of his cock in one hand and the other spreading around Harle’s asshole, biting his lip as the human’s body shivers in time with his eagerness. Harle spreads his legs widely, arching his back and inviting Lucifer with a slight twitch of his cheeks in a manner all too cocky and appealing. When they finally find the perfect angle, Lucifer aligns his dragon dick with Harle’s very human asshole, rubbing against their collective slick with a heavy groan deep in his chest until he applies pressure, pushing against the tight ring of muscle that didn’t quite relax as much as it should, Harle biting hard onto his lip as he takes Lucifer’s full length, his cock warm and thick as it pushes into him.

Harle throws his head back and moans, hissing slightly as inch after inch breaches him. As it goes deeper, he can feel the stretch of Lucifer’s cock beginning to burn where his magic spit didn’t quite reach. Lucifer sighs heavily, their hips meeting with an irresistible squelch. He rests against Harle for a moment, relishing in the warm clench around his cock before he pulls back, thrusting into pulsing heat in a smooth follow up. His cock nearly burns inside of Harle’s warm and wet body, his hips setting a shallow but rapid pace, hands coming to grip either side of Harle’s hips to hold his writhing body still. The air is cold and silent between their exhales of heat and the tempting slap of skin against skin. Lucifer tires of his leisurely pace fairly quickly and bucks his hips, cock rubbing deep inside of the human’s tight hole. Harle makes a noise that Lucifer can’t quite place followed by a groaning “fu...ck,” heavy curses falling from his lips as Lucifer increases the power behind the penetration. 

If he puts his hand on his lower half, he can slightly make out the bulge distending his abdomen. Some utterly demonic part of him craves the indent to be wider, to struggle under the stretch and girth barreling into his ass (oh, yeah the pace is perfect) to cry a little bit. Cathartic pain, the kind that makes his mind go white and his teeth shudder. A state of mindlessness he can rarely afford but is oh, so welcome. 

Almost blindsiding him, his body jolts, eyes blown wide as his dick twitches, once, twice, splattering his stomach with cum. His fists scramble for purchase, gripping onto the plush pillows and utterly ruining them by tearing the satin apart with sharp nails. Harle’s mouth drops open in a silent scream, lips mouthing quiet praise to the one who indulged him. 

Lucifer manages a few more uncoordinated thrusts before he releases his unbearably hot cum. Harle doesn’t know what he was expecting from a dragon, but burning on the inside is a good feeling, especially in this cold. He’s warmed from the inside out, watching Lucifer’s toes curl and muscles clench as it keeps coming. The dragon has indulged himself with his hands when in his human form, but nothing quite compares to unadulterated, raw, filthy sex like the beast he is. This human...all too eager to fuck him...Lucifer pulls out with a satisfactory groan from both parties.

Harle exhales once more, blinks several times before his vision clears and relaxes, boneless and relishing in the heat that radiated from the inside. Lucifer glances between the human’s legs, mesmerized by the slow twitches and plusations of Harle’s asshole, punctuated only by a steady ooze of dragon cum. The young man idly runs his fingers through his hair, twisting loose curls around his index.

The Silverwyrm pulls the human close to his chest, ignoring the mumbled protests from him when he breathes in the warm scent of that faded cologne.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Being underneath a dragon’s tongue isn’t nearly as terrifying as one would think. The inherent threat of being eaten is there, yes, but for some wild reason he...ergh,  _ trusts _ Lucifer.

The tongue laves at his ass, which is aimed directly towards the opening carved into the top of the mountain, leaving behind thick saliva layering hot against his skin, a strange numbing burning sensation that feels oddly wet. It’s not quite the muscle relaxant from before, but it’s itching and causing his body to convulse with each heavy lick. His mouth hangs open, panting at the ground with heavy breaths. Harle can’t control the rate at which his heart pounds against his chest, his lungs flaming with each heave.

His cock scrapes against the sandpaper texture of Lucifer’s wide tongue, the head of his dick dripping cum as his hips grind desperately into the rough surface.

His knees buckle, body sliding back until it rests close to the ground; he thrusts his head back as he screams into the pillow, a rush of salty fluid spurting against Lucifer’s tongue. 

The dragon grumbles, slightly annoyed at his partner’s low threshold and his stamina left a lot to be desired, but how could a human keep up with a Greatwyrm? His ego puffs up a bit with pride, before he realigns Harle’s body with his maw, the exhausted knight rolling onto his back and spreading his legs wide for easier access. He tastes oddly sweet and a touch like smoke and earth, a strange combination of flavors that drove him mad with an insane desire to lick and satiate his hunger.

Harle’s voice is a whimper muted by the back of his hand, prideful even with cum and sweat and dragon spit dripping down his torso in undignified streams. His body trembles with repressed tremors, his free hand digging into the cold stone as overstimulation wrecks through his body.

Lucifer decides to take mercy, retracting the wet muscle back into his mouth as he studies the heaving figure of a man, the brunette falling back against the pillows as he gasps for air, trembling.

“...Bastard…” Harle huffs out. 

There’s a blast of air from Lucifer’s nostrils, a laugh.

He shapeshifts, air and space warping at the edges in a strange sheen, his human form kneeling down at his side before relaxing as he curls around his human. Harle gives a weak protest before grumbling in approval, accommodating the bigger man as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“You’re extremely sensitive for someone with your demeanor. How interesting,” Lucifer practically purs in the human’s ear, his tongue taking a long languid lick up Harle’s smooth face, relishing in the way he shivers, and not from the cold. Harle makes a sound that sounds like exhaustion, accepting Lucifer’s affections as the dragon curls around his sticky body, ruining all of his finery with his own spittle and Harle’s cum. He seems not to mind, and maybe it’s some strange dragon mating ritual to cover your partner in bodily fluids, Harle is too exhausted to poke holes in his own knowledge. 

“Are you tired, my raven?” Lucifer mutters from his spot in the space where neck meets shoulder, using the moniker Harle regretted telling him but now is stuck hearing it all the time.

Harle grumbles, gripping a pillow close to his chest and attempting to cover them with the nearest blanket, giving up when it becomes apparent that won’t happen as it’s trapped between their bodies and moving seems incredibly oppressive. Lucifer is warm enough.

Sometimes when he feels sentimental, he thinks back to his life back as Zethia’s personal footrest, working himself to the bone for someone who didn’t understand his complex stratagems and focused only on their nonsensical old magic. Perhaps he should return, show his face which is no doubt changed with hickeys left by an idiotic dragon and his family name in shambles. Oh, the Estevanza boy ran off with a dragon! How grotesque! As if his family name wasn’t already ruined but he never wanted to cause his mother distress.

He looks over his shoulder at the dragon, soft snores coming from his neck as he’s already asleep again. Between reading, fucking and laying on the pillows being generally intimate, he just fucking sleeps all day. 

Harle sighs, but there's no malice behind it, curling tighter into Lucifer’s embrace and listening to the roar of the winter storm outside fade into an accompanying din to the rumbling fire in Lucifer’s chest as he finally lets sleep claim him.


End file.
